


New friends don't fall from the sky

by Dissenter



Category: Matthew Swift Series - Kate Griffin, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: But they're both also kind of pathetic, Case Fic, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Evil cults, Harry Dresden is a scary bastard, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Matthew Swift is a scary Bastard, Paranoia, which they probably are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissenter/pseuds/Dissenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry and Matthew meet new people who aren't trying to kill them, they are both understandably a little bit paranoid about this, but with murderous cults, the white council breathing down their necks, and the thought of Penny being left in charge of London, they have more pressing things to worry about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Effing dimensional portals

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is set post "blood moon" for the Dresden files because I never actually read past that point, and post the "neon court for Matthew swift" just because. There will be spoilers, probably, i've found it's best to err on the side of caution for these things.

I had honestly thought it was going to be a good day. The sun was shining, my rent was up to date for once, and it had been weeks since anyone had tried to kill me. In retrospect that probably should have been my first warning. It was as I was stepping out of the beetle on my way in to my office that the man fell out of the sky. It probably would have been fairly painful for him if he hadn’t landed on me. Now I’m not exactly a soft cushiony sort of person but I do have a fair advantage over paving slabs as a potential landing place, so landing on me probably saved him from broken bones. I can’t say I enjoyed it much though.

As I shoved the unconscious guy off of me I looked around to see where he came from, and then groaned at seeing the crackly blue portal thingy right above our heads vanish. Nothing good ever comes from crackly blue portal thingies. I considered just leaving the guy where he was, just walking away and not getting sucked into whatever the nasty supernatural crisis of the week was and then felt bad. If an unconscious guy falls on your head out of a crackly blue portal, you’re kind of morally obliged to help him. At least get him a glass of water and check he knows who he is and what year it is. Besides, my more mercenary side pointed out, if he’s falling out of mystical portals in the sky odds are he has magical problems, and if I’m really lucky he might be prepared to hire a wizard to sort them out. Although judging by the somewhat ratty state of his clothing he probably couldn’t afford to.

Getting him upstairs was a bit of a dilemma, on the one hand lifts don’t like me much, and getting stuck in a lift with a guy who had actually started to dribble just a little bit wasn’t on my to do list. On the other hand, dragging an unconscious man up five floors wasn’t really a practical idea either. I briefly considered dumping him in the lift, pressing the button and picking him up at the other end, but decided the probable reactions of any of the buildings other residents who might accidentally stumble upon him made that a bad idea. In the end I chanced the lift, the lights flickered a little halfway up but the thing worked. Once I got him into my office I laid him down on the sofa, before settling down behind my desk with a book to wait for him to wake up.

…

Reality shifted.

A horrifying swirl of image and sound, mashed together in impossible ways.

I blacked out.

Consciousness returned with a splitting headache and a sickening sense of disorientation. I groaned, I considered following it up with a whimper but decided against it, I still had some pride. I kept our eyes shut as I tried to get my bearings. I knew almost immediately we weren’t in London, the city felt more like Chicago than anywhere else but that still wasn’t quite right. The taste of the magic was subtly wrong, in ways that made us feel deeply uncomfortable.

I opened my eyes, and looked around. I appeared to be in an office. Not the big, bustling sort, full of cubicles and people on phones. The low budget, self-employed sort, with the big wooden desk, and the name on the door, and the dodgy solicitors in the office down the hall. The sort of office you see in old detective films, the ones with the private investigators, and the improbably well-endowed femme fatales. There was a man sitting behind the desk, dark hair, dark eyes, long coat. We suspected he would have been very tall if he was standing, but he wasn’t. Instead he had his feet up on the desk and was reading a book. This went some way towards averting our panic, he didn’t look immediately threatening, which is always a good sign. He noticed our eyes were open, and put the book down.

“I see you’re awake”

“Where are we?” we demanded before he could continue. “It feels like Chicago, but if it is then it’s not the Chicago I’ve been to. Where are we?”

…

“Where are we?” the man demanded and I had the uncomfortable feeling I wasn’t included in that we. I put aside that feeling for the moment and answered him.

“We’re in Chicago, you fell through a mystical portal of some kind and landed on me.” Sometimes honesty is the best policy. This seemed to be one of those times. The man actually looked faintly apologetic.

“Sorry about that. It was totally unintentional.” Judging by his accent he was English, but when dealing with mystical portal thingies it’s always best to check.

“So where are you from?”

“I’m from London.” He had switched pronouns, I noticed. Interesting.

“Judging by your lack of shock at the concept of mystical portals, I’m going to assume that you are in some way magically inclined.” He gave a short laugh.

“You could say that.”

“So what are you? Wizard, fey, little green man from Mars?” Yes I was being rude, but he had ruined what had been a beautiful morning and I had the feeling he was going to get me into a lot of trouble before all this was done. At any rate he didn’t look too offended.

 “I’m a sorcerer, among other things. How about you?”

“I’m a wizard” I responded, noting his lack of surprise at my answer. I really wanted to ask him about the “other things”, but just then the phone rang.

“Hi this is Dresden. How may I help you?”

“Harry are you free.” It was Lieutenant Murphy, Head of Special Investigations with the police, and thus my main wage ticket. Also my friend but judging by her tone of voice she was calling me on business.

“I can be. Why, what’s the problem?”

“It’s a bad one. Come and see for yourself.” She rattled off an address.

“I can be there in ten. Hey, is it ok if I bring my associate. I won’t bring him into the actual crime scene or anything but is it ok if he hangs around outside. He’s new in town and I don’t want to leave him on his own.” All technically true, my sorcerer friend was new in town, and I didn’t want to leave him on his own. Mainly because having an unknown quantity hovering around my office unsupervised gave me the heebie-jeebies, but Murphy didn’t really need to know that.

“As long as he stays out of my crime scene he can do what he likes.” Was Murphy’s short response, before hanging up. I turned to inform my new friend of the arrangement.

“Hey that was Lieutenant Karin Murphy, she wants me on a crime scene so...”

“We heard. You want me to go with you and keep out of trouble.” I noticed he’d switched pronouns again.

“Yeah. You ok with that.” He shrugged.

“It won’t be the first crime scene I’ve been to.” And didn’t that open up whole realms of unpleasant possibilities.

“I’m Matthew by the way, Matthew Swift.” The casual way he gave his name surprised me. But then, maybe he had others. I supposed I should really introduce myself.

“I’m…”

“Harry Dresden, we heard.” That put me off balance, I’d only answered the phone with Dresden, then I recalled that Murphy had called me Harry. Had he really heard her over the phone from the other side of the room? “We’re good with telephones.” He shrugged in response to my unspoken question. Deciding to poke at this mystery later, I helped him up and left the office.

…

The thing with cities is that they all have their own unique flavour. London tastes different to Paris, tastes different to Tokyo. Urban sorcerers can feel the magic of a city, it flows through our veins and sets the rhythm of our hearts. Once we’ve visited a city we know its magic, we know the feel of it. I’d been to Chicago before. This was not Chicago, and yet it felt more similar than any two cities should. It felt like Chicago but with a million tiny, impossible variations. It made me think of parallel universes, and alternate dimensions, and other things found in the scripts of star trek episodes. We had never come across a parallel universe before, but I’d been trained to keep an open mind and it was looking increasingly like there were no other options.

I spent the short car journey considering my situation, and coming up with nothing helpful. We decided we approved of the wizard’s car, its patchwork colour scheme was intriguing. We wondered if many cars in this dimension were so colourful, or if it was a personal eccentricity of the owner. Dresden left us in the car once we arrived at the crime scene. I considered asking the police officers stationed outside for a coffee, but after seeing the grim looks on their faces decided it was best not to bother them. Dresden was not in there long, maybe ten minutes, and when he came out his expression matched those of the cops. After getting back in the car he announced he needed a drink.

…

Murphy was right. It was bad. Three bodies, kids that appeared to have had their hearts ripped out through their chests. There was blood everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, there was even some on the ceiling. The removed hearts had been placed at the points of some kind of magic circle. I didn’t know the symbols but I could feel the power that had been channelled into it, and whatever they were up to it was bad news. The feeling of malice and death in the room was so strong it was hard to breathe. That sickeningly familiar sensation of magic that had been used to kill.

“Well” Murphy demanded impatiently. “You got anything?”

“Nothing specific, but someone was definitely into some heavy duty mojo. These guys were human sacrifices, meant to help power the circle. I don’t know what it’s supposed to do but this is some seriously bad shit Murphy.”

“No kidding. Can you give me anything useful?” At that moment a couple of forensic techs walked into the room. I took the opportunity to head towards the door.

“I can do some research and get back to you.” Murphy seemed satisfied she wasn’t going to get any more from me right here and now.

“Call me tomorrow with what you find.” And then I was out and I could breathe again. I decided I needed a drink.

….

The pub was dark and smoky, the magic felt muffled. It was there, a sense of comfort and belonging, as well as a barrier against the outside world. The same feeling you get in all establishments that cater to side-lined subcultures, you feel variants of it in goth clubs, and Irish pubs, in gay bars and motorbike cafes. Wherever members of a significant minority group congregate, there is that taste in the air. In this place it was present, but dampened, as though the very layout of the place was designed to disrupt the flow of magic. If, as seemed likely judging by the clientele, this was the local magician’s hangout, maybe that was a good thing. Help to keep a lid on any potential trouble.

I noticed there was a distinct lack of electronic devices in the place. In fact nothing in there would have looked too out of place in a medieval inn. We recalled there had been very few high tech devices in Dresden’s office as well. It wasn’t just a matter of this dimension’s technology being behind either. The cops at the crime scene had looked completely up to date. I wondered if it was something to do with the way magic worked here. Just then Dresden cleared his throat, to ask a question so I stored the thought away for further consideration.

….

I took him to McAnally’s. I wasn’t too happy with the thought of letting him into my home (It’s not paranoia if they really are all out to get you), and at Mac’s I could get that drink I wanted. I ordered us both steak and chips and a pint of ale and considered how to begin the interrogation. He seemed harmless so far, but then so do ninety percent of things that would happily eat your brain with a straw. At any rate I needed answers, so time for questions.

“So Mr Swift. Any idea how you ended up four feet in the air, outside my office.” He considered for a moment.

“No not really.” Not the most forthcoming guy. He hadn’t said a word on the car journey either. Either he wasn’t much of a talker, or he was as paranoid as I was.

“Do you know where you were, right before this happened?”

“London”

“More specifically?”

“Bank Station.”

“Work with me here Mathew, maybe I can help you. I’m assuming you’re in some kind of trouble?”

“Probably”

“Well I specialise in helping people with magical problems.”

“Really.” He looked unimpressed

“Yeah I’m in the phone book and everything.” I could see him weighing his options before deciding to speak.

“I think I may be from some sort of parallel universe.” He said after some consideration. Clearly he’d decided to trust me for now.

“What makes you think that?” It was a slightly outlandish theory. Even he sounded a bit sceptical.

“A few things, but mostly the way the city feels.”

“You mean like a hunch.”

“No. It feels different, the magic, the life of the city feels different to the Chicago I’ve visited, in a million subtle ways.” I could see him coming more alive, impassioned at the subject.

“You can feel that?”

“I’m an urban sorcerer. Of course I can.” He said simply. His matter of fact tone intrigued me. Clearly there were differences at least in terminology more likely in the very nature of magic, between our two dimensions. I realized I had unconsciously started to accept his theory.

“I think, if you’re right and not just crazy, there might be some differences between magic in your universe and mine.” He nodded as though he’d already thought of that.

“I notice there are no electronic devices here, and there weren’t many in your office.”

“Magic sends technology round the bend. I can’t be within six feet of a computer without frying it. The effect gets worse the more powerful you are, or the magic you are doing is.”

“Hmm, interesting. I’ve never heard of such an effect in my world. Of course I could short most electrics out if I wanted to, but not without actually putting some effort in. There’s even magicians who specialise in computers. I guess you’ve never heard of something called a hex file?”

“No. It sounds nasty.”

“It’s basically a sort of magical computer virus. A friend of mine nearly got eaten by my computer thanks to one.” A part of me was still wary, but another stronger part was fascinated by a completely new sort of magic. The paranoid voice got squashed by the magic geek voice and before I knew it I was inviting him to my lab for comparative magical research.

…

The steak was good. We made a mental note to eat here as often as possible before returning home. Dresden appeared to have at least partly dropped his guard around us. He appeared fascinated by the prospect of magic from another world, and I’d be lying if I said I had no interest, so when he invited us back to his lab, I agreed. It was becoming obvious that the magic was here was like the city, different from what we knew in so many ways, and yet still so uncannily similar.

Dresden’s house smelled of charcoal and wood smoke, presumably a side effect of Dresden’s effect on any technology more advanced than the charcoal burning stove we saw in the corner. His lab was in the sub-basement and it was bloody freezing. Fortunately he decided to hold our discussion in the significantly more comfortable main flat area, after retrieving a skull from the lab.

“Matthew meet Bob, Bob meet Matthew. Bob, Matthew claims to be a sorcerer from some kind of parallel dimension where the rules of magic are slightly different, is that possible, plausible, or in any way verifiable? Matthew, Bob is a knowledge spirit bound to a skull, he may know something useful.” We considered how to respond to this and decided to fall back on good manners.

“It’s nice to meet you Bob.”

“Hmm an interesting puzzle.” Now the skull was talking, in the process making Dresden look slightly less insane. “Tell me about magic. From your world’s perspective of course.”

We paused, thought for a moment.

“Life is magic.” I said. “Magic is generated by life. Is the byproduct of life. Where there is life there is magic.” That was the truth that all sorcerers knew in their bones. Judging by Dresden’s expression it struck a chord with him too.

“Ok so on a philosophical level magic in our two worlds is quite similar.” He mused, “That means that the differences must be on a practical functional level, in how we make it work rather than what it is.” We considered that for a moment.

“Maybe… But the absence of technological magic here makes me think that the philosophy may be more different than it initially appears.”

“How so?”

“If life is magic then the speed and chaos and energy of modern life should be as legitimate a source of power as the slow green rhythms of more traditional ways of living, and yet here it seems that there are no magicians that draw their power from the city.”

“Is that important.” Dresden didn’t understand. How could he.

“It’s hard to say. I can’t pretend to be impartial you understand. I’m an urban sorcerer, my heart beats in time with the rhythms of the city, my magic is the power of traffic, and streetlights, and tower blocks. That there are none here who can see that power; that strikes me as profoundly alien. But the power is still here, different perhaps but I can still feel it, still connect to it. It’s not like being in the countryside, where the magic is all of slow, green growing things, and I know it’s there but I can’t touch it, can barely feel it.”

….

I felt a tinge of unease listening to him. He was right. The power he described was different from what I understood as magic, the connection he had to his power was not like mine. But if his magic still worked here there must be some overlap.

“So you think magic is both different and the same, here and there? Similar enough that your magic can work in my world, but not enough that they are really the same thing.” I speculated.

“We… suspect that our magic operates at right angles to yours rather than in direct opposition.” He had switched pronouns again, I was starting to suspect he didn’t even notice he was doing it. I considered calling him out on it but decided to leave it in favour of the task at hand.

“So to clarify. In your world is magic a hereditary trait? Something that people are born with? Or is it just something you learn to do?” Swift paused for a moment, clearly thinking about it.

“I’m… not entirely sure that’s the right sort of question. Certain tendencies and inclinations do tend to run in families, but its more complicated than that. Especially when you bring in to play all the different types of magic users.”

“So simplify it. You’re a sorcerer, is that hereditary?” I tried to cut to the chase.

“Again I’m not sure that’s the right sort of question. I mean certain mystical leanings do run in my family, but that’s not straightforward. It’s like saying does sportiness run in families. Certain tendencies do get passed on, through nature, nurture or whatever else but ultimately there’s no simple formula for it. Sorcery is a point of view, an ability to see and harness the power in everyday things, to feel the life around you and let it flow through you.”

“I… think I get it. So it’s not passed on the way wizardry is passed on in this world from parent to child, like eye colour and blood type.”

“Nope.”

“So how are you trained? I assume you need some kind of training, or does it all just come instinctively.”

“Trained sorcerers take apprentices and teach them control. How to separate themselves from the magic, from the city.”

“So it’s a master and apprentice system then.” The thought made me uncomfortable. Dragged up bad memories better left buried. I covered my discomfort by asking what the relationship was like. “Is it like teacher and student or more like parent and child?”

“The bond between master and apprentice is… intense. You have to understand, sorcerers go mad. If you can’t control it, if you haven’t been taught to control it, you lose yourself. You get so caught up in the rhythms of life and magic that your body is left drooling on the pavement while your mind scatters across the city. It’s a powerful connection you have, to the person who teaches you how to stay a person.”

“Must be nice. That kind of relationship.” I muttered, trying to suppress the bitterness in my voice. Just because I had master/apprentice issues didn’t mean I needed to project onto Mathew.

“It was. Until it wasn’t.” Then again maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d been burned by a mentor.

“What happened?” I don’t know why I asked. Maybe misery just loves company, maybe I had a morbid urge to compare notes.

“Well I’d say things went downhill the day my mentor’s shadow came to life and killed me.” Shit, I really had no idea how to respond to that.

“Want a beer?” Hey, if that sort of confession doesn’t merit alcohol, I’m not sure what does.

“Yeah, alright.” I went to the icebox and grabbed a couple of bottles. After we were both settled with some beer inside us I spoke.

“My apprenticeship kinda went wrong when I was forced to kill my mentor with magic to keep him from taking over my mind.”

“I take it the “with magic” part is significant.” I was slightly surprised Swift had picked up on that.

“Yeah, killing someone with magic is kind of a big no no in this universe. As in a go straight to execution, do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

“Execution?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

“Yep. I guess I should give you a run down of the seven laws of magic before you manage to get yourself into trouble huh.”

“I suspect that might be a good idea.”

“Ok so basically the rules go thou shalt not kill humans with magic, thou shalt not turn other people into anything else, thou shalt not read people’s minds, thou shalt not control people’s minds, thou shalt not research or practice necromancy, thou shalt not fuck with causality, and thou shalt not deal with beings from other dimensions.” Mathew took a moment, in which I assumed he compared that list with one in his head before saying.

“Shit, I don’t suppose crimes committed in a different universe count as outside the jurisdiction of whoever it is that decides this stuff.”

“While you may technically have a solid legal argument there, I doubt the wardens would  go for it. So what have you done?”

“Well, I mean where the actual blame for certain actions lies is a matter of some debate, and the human/non-human status of certain entities might be equally disputable, but I’m pretty sure it could be said I’ve violated rules one and possibly four, seven if you count my ending up here, and well five is definitely up for debate. I mean it wasn’t classical necromancy and I wasn’t the one who actually did the ritual, but I was dead, and now I’m alive and it’s technically our fault and it’s all rather complicated.”

“Shit, I hadn’t thought about rule seven, and you, and being from a different universe. You know I really think it would be best if we kept your origins quiet from the wardens. They tend to be a bit, well inflexible, about the law.” I reran the end of his statement in my head before panicking.

“Hang on, you mean you were actually dead, like proper shuffled off the mortal coil dead, not just heart stopped and then revived dead. What the hell happened?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say it wasn’t quick or pleasant and leave it at that.” By the look on his face I decided there were some things you just didn’t push at without a good reason. Forcing a man to relive his evidently slow and painful death probably counted as one of them. I handed him another beer.

“Anyway, who decides and enforces all this stuff anyway?” Ok so we were back to talking about the rules of magic, marginally less morbid and gruesome, but still not light conversation. Still I guessed he needed to know this stuff.

“Well basically it’s decided by the white council, who are a group of powerful, judgemental and hidebound wizards with pretty much no sense of humour or mercy. They act as the general body of authority over wizardly affairs. I take it you have some kind of equivalent?” I was actually pretty curious about his answer.

“Well, sort of, not really, I mean, I guess you could say I’m kind of the overall magical authority. At least in London and the surrounding area. God that sounds even more ridiculous out loud.” He sounded somewhere between embarrassed and resigned.

“What, you mean you are basically the local equivalent of the white council in your universe?” I may have yelped a bit.

“Well not exactly, I mean I’m the midnight mayor, but I don’t make or enforce laws or anything. I mean there aren’t really any laws as such about magic in my world.”

“What do you do then?”

“Well the midnight mayor protects the city. When something comes up that’s big enough or nasty enough to threaten the city as a whole it’s my job to stop it. Also there are meetings. And paperwork. Most of which I admittedly foist off on my PA but still.” He still looked slightly embarrassed about the whole thing.

“Wow. So um, how did you end up as midnight mayor then?”

“Well that’s kind of a long story involving the death of cities, a stolen hat, and my apprentice. Just out of curiosity, is magic common knowledge in this universe?” It was an obvious deflection but I decided to let it pass.

“Not really. Why do you ask?”

“Well I was trying to figure out why the cops would hire a wizard.”

“It’s complicated.” I didn’t feel up to explaining the precise dynamics of my relationship with the police to an interdimensional traveller. “Let’s just say it involves a certain level of don’t ask don’t tell, a fair amount of burying heads in the sand, and copious helpings of plausible deniability.”

“They don’t know, they don’t want to know, they know you get results, they really don’t want to know how or why” he translated, smart guy.

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

“So how’s the current case going?”

“Not good. At some point I’m going to have to take a good long look at these crime scene photos and try and work out what they were doing.” That was one task I wasn’t looking forward to. Luckily he didn’t seem inclined to push. Instead he made a slightly unanticipated change of subject.

“Can we go shopping?” I must have given him a look of utter disbelief, because he fidgeted in embarrassment, before elaborating

“The thing is we’ve arrived, with basically nothing except the clothes we’re standing up in and while we have arrived in worse situations with less, this is still not an ideal state of affairs and given that at this particular point in time no-one is trying to kill us, I thought this might be a good time to get some clean underwear and a toothbrush.” Ok I could kind of see where he was coming from on that one, besides taking him shopping would further delay the moment where I had to look at those crime scene photos. So I agreed.

….

While I didn’t need supplies to be dangerous, they did help, and given I was pretty sure my powers as midnight mayor didn’t apply in Chicago, let alone alternate universe Chicago, we would feel a lot more comfortable with some useful items. Dresden gave me an odd look when I asked to stop off at a phone booth, and an even odder look when I grabbed one of the business cards advertising the services of “sexy asian babes”.

“I need money.” I muttered in response to his unspoken question. He didn’t look any less mystified until I took a pen out of my pocket and wrote four sets of four numbers neatly on the back.

“I assume that this is some kind of magical technique?” He looked curious. “Can I watch?”

“That depends. How close to you have to be to short out electrical devices?”

“Depends, on the complexity of the device and my state of mind”

“In that case, I’ll need you to err on the side of caution. Shorting out the cash point while I’m in the middle of doing this would probably be bad. But you’re welcome to watch as close as you can.” Dresden accepted my conditions with a nod.

He stood well back as I charmed the cashpoint out of a couple of hundred dollars. He actually looked vaguely impressed.

“Handy trick”

“I prefer not to use it except in emergencies. The money has to come from somewhere, and if you make it too much of a habit it can get you into trouble.”

“And how often do emergencies come up.”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Fair enough” he grinned “So, where to next?”

He looked more and more confused as I dragged him around a series of shops, but to his credit he held back from the questions I could tell he was dying to ask.

 

…

After committing what was apparently the mystical equivalent of credit card fraud, Matthew dragged me around a bewilderingly eclectic selection of shops. After making the obvious stops at a clothes shop and a chemist, for spare underwear and a toothbrush, he stopped off at an art shop and grabbed several cans of spray paint, brought a lighter but no cigarettes at an off license, and went into a supermarket to buy, of all things, a yellow high vis jacket and a cuddly toy dragon. He used the remainder of his money to buy a weekly travel pass for the trains. By this point I figured we really ought to be heading back. I had research to do and he looked like the events of the day had all started to catch up to him at once, but before we went home I had to ask.

“So what’s with the cuddly toy?”

“Just a theory that might or might not work out. I’m really hoping I don’t have to test it but my luck just isn’t that good.” I knew that feeling.


	2. Effing cultists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew and Harry bond, Murphy is pissed off, and there are unforseen side effects to transdimensional travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry updates on this are so slow, but I have to reread one each of both Matthew Swift and the Dresden files every time I write a chapter so it has to wait until I have free time.

Matthew spent the night on my sofa, looking vaguely lost and helpless in a disreputable sort of way. I spent the night in my workshop looking at a series of gruesome crime scene photos, feeling an odd mixture of confused and horrified. Here was a symbol that twisted the laws of gods and men, there was a word in a dead language that usually translated as angel. It looked like an enthusiastic amateur had cobbled together a joke ritual out of half a dozen separate magical traditions, and then someone with real power and no common sense had tried to make it work by shoving the raw power of human sacrifice into it. It was in short a bloody mess that was almost impossible to make heads or tails of.

After hours of painstaking notes, referencing old spell books, and a constant snarky commentary from Bob, I managed to establish that it was some sort of summoning ritual. I had no idea what for. There was a word that could mean angel, but could also just as easily be translated as seer, and there was an old symbol that seemed to represent the ancient vedic God of storms, and the total lack of any grammar or logic to the spell’s formation meant it was totally unclear whether they signified the forces being summoned, the forces being called on to aid in the summoning, or the forces the summoning was designed to counter. It was enough to give me the headache from hell, which on top of the queasiness I was already feeling looking at those pictures meant I was less than impressed with whoever had done this. I ended up falling asleep in my chair.

The next thing I knew Mathew was offering me coffee. Mmmm coffee. He noticed the photographs and stiffened. I couldn’t blame him really, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Are those the crime scene photos?”

“Yeah” I confirmed.

“Shit that looks nasty.” He looked a little sick. The thought had crossed my mind that he might have had something to do with it, but honestly it didn’t seem likely. For starters he didn’t seem to be that good an actor and the look on his face was a hard one to fake. Secondly if he had been involved I could think of a few more subtle ways to approach me than fall out of the sky onto my head. And finally by this point I was pretty much convinced he was in fact from a parallel universe. I’d looked at him under mage site as he was scamming the ATM and it had looked nothing like any magic I’d ever seen before. It looked _wrong_ , like it didn’t belong. Not evil, just… out of place. I had no idea what the giant electric blue wings signified, clearly he was hiding something, but I seriously doubted it had anything to do with my latest job… Unless…. No, it couldn’t be. Shit. Fucking _angel wings._

“I wonder Mathew, if you’d be willing to tell me the connection between you and angels.”

…

When we woke up that morning it took us a moment to place the uncomfortable feeling of wrongness creeping through my insides. Then I remembered. Parallel universe. I got up and fought the urge to be sick. It seemed dimensional travel might have some side effects. I got up and made coffee on the basis that coffee solved most problems that crop up before 11am. The fact that so many other people believed the same thing allowed me to leverage it into a minor healing spell. I took some to Matthew as well. If you make coffee in someone else’s house it’s only polite to offer them some.

We found him asleep on a pile of fairly gruesome photos, he looked a wreck. It was actually possible to see the life returning to him as he drank the coffee, with all the dedication of a terminal caffeine addict. I’m not sure he even realized it was magic. It seemed to do him some good though, I could see the colour returning to his face. The ritual he was studying looked nasty, dead bodies and blood everywhere. I didn’t recognise any of the symbols. Unsurprising, it was a different world after all. There did seem to be an inordinate amount of copper wire on the scene though. No, not just copper wire, _telephone_ wire. Before I could follow that line of thought any further, Harry spoke.

“I wonder Mathew, if you’d be willing to tell me the connection between you and angels.” We panicked, considered lying, considered telling the truth, but before we could come to a decision we were hit by a coughing fit and the whole focus of our existence was narrowed down to the simple urge to breathe. Inhale, exhale, try to suppress the throat tearing, lung draining spasms that ripped through us. It was bad. Once it was finished I fell to my knees, shaking, gasping for air, and tasted metal. We looked at our hand, there was blood. Not a good sign. Harry looked concerned. Understandable really, his unexpected mystical charity case had just started coughing up blood, we might be contagious. I felt the need to reassure him.

“Don’t worry… I… don’t think we’re contagious.” He didn’t look convinced.

…

One minute we were talking, next minute he’s coughing up his guts. There was a rasp to that cough that sounded deeply troubling, and by the time he was finished there was blood on his hand and at the corner of his mouth. For a moment there it sounded like he was dying.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re contagious.” He said, as though that was reassuring. I liked the guy, secrets and dodgy pronoun usage aside, he seemed like a decent person, and he was fascinating to talk to. I didn’t want him to cough himself to death in front of me.

“What the hell was that all about?” I demanded, hoping it was something fixable.

“Not… a hundred percent sure… but I think… your reality might be rejecting our existence… or possibly mine, it’s hard to say at this point.” He was still breathing heavily but he’d managed to pull himself back to his feet. By this point I was pretty sure this I, and we, thing was a sign of something a bit more complicated. I would have asked, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure he’d give me a straight answer, and in any case there were more immediate concerns.

“How bad is it?” because there were really only a couple of ways the phrase “reality rejecting my existence” could be interpreted and none of them were good.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. But from where I’m standing, I’m thinking bad. Coughing up blood’s not usually a good sign.”

After that we didn’t talk much. I offered him a seat and then went to make him a cup of tea, more to give myself space than anything else really. When I came back in he was slumped over the sofa, staring at the photographs. He looked sort of pathetic, I felt sorry for him. Maybe that’s why I took him with me when Murphy called and asked me to come down to the police station.

I soon regretted it. She was not in a good mood. Certainly she was in no mood to be tolerant of me dragging a random stranger into an active homicide investigation. She shouted a bit at random, something about motherfucking cultists I think, before demanding to know who the hell Mathew was.

“Um well, Murphy this is Matthew, Matthew, this is Murphy. Murphy is a cop, Matthew is a sorcerer, try to play nice, nobody is having a good day there’s no need to make it worse. Now Murphy, why exactly have you called me down here?”

“Firstly what have you been able to find out about whatever the hell it was they were doing?” It seemed she had decided to file Matthew under inexplicable mystical shit associated with Harry Dresden, and pretend he wasn’t there. Honestly it was probably the best reaction we could have hoped for.

“Well, I’m still trying to figure out the details. Quite frankly the whole thing was a bloody mess and I don’t think it did what they thought it did. Basically it looked like some sort of summoning put together by a bunch of drunken amateurs, and then modified and carried out by a bunch of psychotic amateurs. Still not sure exactly what they were trying to summon, I’m not even really sure if they succeeded. As any rate we aren’t looking for a bunch of Einstein’s here.” Murphy did not look relieved.

“You know, in some ways I prefer my insane cultists to be intelligent. I mean yeah stupid criminals are easier to catch, but they tend to cause a lot less collateral damage than fanatical morons do.” She might have a point there. Smart people wouldn’t keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Still, cultists. I fucking hate cultists.

“It’s cultists then.” I checked just to confirm.

“Yep, full on smite the unbeliever, brainwash the converts cultists. They’ve got some kind of weird angel fetish going on. Angel statues, angel paintings, angel tattoo’s you name it.”

“That makes sense. I did see a symbol in the crime scene photos that could be translated as angel, which would mean they were trying to summon an angel, which fits with the whole angel cult thing.”

“Do you think they succeeded?” Murphy wondered aloud.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course they didn’t succeed.” I snapped. I would have gone on to detail all the ways in which the whole idea was ridiculous, if Matthew hadn’t managed to draw both of our attention by muttering something while staring very intently at the celing.

“Umm, well… yeah about that” he muttered shuffling his feet. “There may have been a couple of things I failed to tell you about me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Matthew comes clean, we meet the not very competant cultists, and Morgan shows up like a bad penny

**Author's Note:**

> I basically wrote this because I wanted these two to meet, because they both deserve friends they have something in common with.


End file.
